


Fridge Raider

by owl_coffee



Category: To Whatever - Shaenon Garrity
Genre: Fluff, Gen, YAY YULETIDE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: The thing in the walls was restless. Angry voices and arguments always made its tentacles knot painfully, and the tenant in 3B was still taking part in a loud dispute. It had been an hour already. Would it go on all night again?No. As the thing listened, there was a final – slam! – and stomping shoes made their way out into the corridor. The one making the huffing breaths as he stormed out sounded like the taller, ungainly one. Back inside 3B things were calm and quiet at last.“Shit,” said the other tenant, the short, dark one. He spoke quietly, sat down heavily on the couch.While the shorter tenant was occupied elsewhere, the thing in the walls took the opportunity to puncture and drain the new container of sweet, creamy whiteness in the fridge. Delicious.





	Fridge Raider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhill/gifts).



The thing in the walls was restless. Angry voices and arguments always made its tentacles knot painfully, and the tenant in 3B was still taking part in a loud dispute. It had been an hour already. Would it go on all night again?

No. As the thing listened, there was a final – slam! – and stomping shoes made their way out into the corridor. The one making the huffing breaths as he stormed out sounded like the taller, ungainly one. Back inside 3B things were calm and quiet at last.

“Shit,” said the other tenant, the short, dark one. He spoke quietly, sat down heavily on the couch.

While the shorter tenant was occupied elsewhere, the thing in the walls took the opportunity to puncture and drain the new container of sweet, creamy whiteness in the fridge. Delicious.

 

The shorter tenant was a much more restful one than his partner. Days went by with hardly a sound out of him, except for the occasional sobbing at night, and the thing in the walls began to feel its tentacles unknotting. The shorter tenant did not seem to be a very interesting person on his own, just staying in and reading, but that was fine. Quiet was good.

The shorter tenant had good taste in apples. Red Delicious was a far better choice than Pink Lady, even if it was a little more expensive this time of year. Crisp. Cold. Sweet.

 

The note came as a surprise. The thing in the walls squirted a little ink in shock, at first wondering whether to send this man to the Forgetting Place, the boundaries already feeling smoke-thin and easy to push against in the shorter tenant’s mind. It would be the most straightforward solution. The thing in the walls should have been more careful not to be so obvious.

But the note was written – kindly. As if the writer did not want to disturb the thing in the walls, but just to bring the situation to its attention.

 

Shadows drifted across the palace floor. The thing in the walls scuttled nervously from one to the next, trying to move quickly, not to seem too vulnerable or alone. The shadows before the empty Throne stretched out the farthest, and from within them a dull red glow came, as if from a set of large unblinking eyes.

 _Half & Half _ requested the thing in the walls, then when there was no response, more firmly, _Half & Half and your obligation to me is concluded_

Silence stretched out for a long minute and the thing in the walls began to think the worst. Then came the rasping voice, directly into the mind of the thing in the walls without the intervening benefit of ears or vocal cords:

_DONE._

 

The shorter tenant was pleased. Ethan. That must not be his true name (who gives out their true name to any fool in the walls who comes along?) but it was still pleasant to have been thanked, to know that Ethan was grateful. Ethan.

The thing in the walls ate half of the container of left-over potato salad sitting in the back of the fridge, and considerately replaced the lid afterwards. Good.

 

The thing in the walls found a tree of almost-but-not-entirely-apples in the Lands Without Sunrise, and added one to the crisper whenever they were running low.

Perhaps the tenant (Ethan) would enjoy handling the polished stone tiles or the tools from the Oldest Ones it found sometimes? The thing in the walls left them out on the counter and saw that the tenant (Ethan) picked them up and played with them idly when he was done with the dishes.

 

Betrayal. Betrayal and the thing in the walls was still moulting, still felt awful and unprepared for this. Shedding a trail of scales and slime it had barely made it into the safest place it knew in time when the super unexpectedly came into the apartment during the day, not even calling ahead. The pipes rattled and the super grunted with effort fishing around in the toilet, in the sink for clogs. The super tapped at the walls and hammered at the pipes and the thing in the walls shuddered. The super gave up after a while and went away.

No more almost-but-not-entirely-apples. No more revealing itself. Quiet was safer. Hidden.

 

Another note. The thing in the walls uncoiled from its hidden spot at the blackest hour of night to venture down and read it. It must be the moult, but the thing had felt unexpectedly sad at the prospect of driving the shorter tenant (Ethan) from 3B when it was feeling better. It was such a relief to realize it had all been a misunderstanding.

The shampoo felt heavenly on the thing in the walls’ sore spines. More loose scales came off and swirled down the bathtub drain as it hummed an ancient hymn, off-key. Smelling of strawberry.

 

The shorter tenant (Ethan) looked morose after another phone call. Then suddenly he seemed happier as if he had lit on an idea. The dragging sounds and vibrations from moving furniture discommoded the thing in the walls, and it sought refuge in the Lands Without Sunrise for a few hours. Every departure and return was harder, without a blood sacrifice to keep going. But the bananas helped. Protein.

When it came back, an invitation.

The moving pictures danced two-dimensional, diverting. The thing in the walls didn’t quite see the point in comparison to the all-encompassing pleasure of the Mirror Worlds, but it supposed that this was easier on a weeknight, less likely to end in a brain parasite.

Ethan laughed and smiled when the presenters brought a singing dog on stage. The thing in the walls sipped at beer, not quite soundlessly. Ethan did not turn around to see what was behind him. The thing in the walls relaxed in the loveseat, bonelessly content.

It continued. Television. Beers. Thai Food. Parcheesi night.

Friends?

Face lit by the flickering screen, Ethan looked sweet, lying there falling asleep after another rerun. TNG was the thing in the walls’ favorite, it had decided, but Voyager was OK too. As if Ethan’s skin could reply with messages, lit up rather than tediously spelled out in a foreign language. The thing in the walls draped a fleece blanket over his toes, careful not to wake him up.

Friends. The thing in the walls gifted Ethan with a blue prism from the Temple of Lost Melodies the next day, a unique piece that would protect him from malign dream influences if he placed it above his bed at night. One droplet of black blood was all it had cost, a bargain.

 

Ethan stayed out late after canceling Parcheesi night. So late, the thing in the walls was wondering, worrying about others who walked Between coming and hurting Ethan, worrying about death curses and blood rituals gone wrong. When there was a fumbling at the door at 3am, the thing in the walls jumped straight up and splayed out attack-spines, ready for anything. But it was only Ethan, drunk-mumbling his way into bed, hair in dozy tufts and smiling wide splitting his mouth smiling. Smiling about Willem, the PhD student. Cute accent, neighbor, taller, handsome.

The thing in the walls didn’t like the sound of Willem.

Didn’t like the sound of him at all.

 

The thing in the walls noticed that Ethan was using the blue prism to unclog the washing machine drain again. Whistling a cheerful tune as he did so.

 

Capturing a nightmare-spider was difficult, but worthwhile. The cobwebs took effect the very first night, and Willem looked less full of energy the next day, quieter, less likely to whisk Ethan out to dinner and talk to him all about Europe (a place the thing in the walls had never been, unless you counted invading people’s dreams). How was the thing in the walls supposed to compete with Europe?

 

There were drilling noises at night, sometimes. Home improvement? But it came at strange intervals, just when the walls between worlds were weakest. As if someone (a spy?) was trying to drill through.

 

Ethan didn’t turn up for dinner. The thing in the walls had made spaghetti and trapezoidal prisms specially. Sucking spaghetti into an orifice moodily, it wondered whether this room-mate situation had gone completely sour. Perhaps it had expected too much.

The thing in the walls took back the blue prism, sulkily ingesting it as it listened to Ethan kissing Willem good night outside. The harsh sting of old magic almost distracted it enough.

 

How did Ethan know what Willem screamed in the middle of the night? He must be staying over there. The thing in the walls knew it. Fury/pain. The thing in the walls inscribed runes in charcoal in haste without the sort of tone appropriate to a room-mate (friend?). _Don’t trust him. What does he scream at night._ That sort of behavior was too possessive and Ethan called it out for what it was. Embarrassed.

Ethan was going to be gone for a couple of days, said the note. The thing in the walls took twelve showers in a row but even the strawberry conditioner didn’t help it to feel any better. What was this? Why did it feel so bad?

Perhaps Willem was the spy. That would make sense. Seducing away Ethan’s attentions. Trying to distract him without truly caring about him, without caring about that endearing wheezing noise that Ethan made when he was really deeply asleep.

It might be foolish, but better to be safe than sorry.

 

In the abandoned temple, dust coated the floor as thickly as a carpet. Flakes silently drifted from above, lit sickly green by the gems in the wall. One shrine remained intact, one statue with far too many arms and legs and heads.

The thing in the walls knelt. _Place your mark upon him, Emperor_

_WHO DARES ASK?_

The thing in the walls shuddered. _Your humble slave_

_THE COST IS GREAT._

The thing in the walls flattened itself still further against the cold, dusty stone. _I will pay_

 

The mark appeared upon Willem’s back the next day. The thing in the walls was drained, exhausted, pleased. But the man clearly must know some manner of dark magics himself, as this did not cripple him in the expected fashion. If anything, Willem started to strut around more smugly than before. It had backfired, the thing in the walls realized.

Willem had always wanted proof. It had just given him some.

 

Ethan wrote that Willem had been asking too many questions. But it was OK. Ethan wanted to get some Thai food, talk about it over bottles of _foom_ like old times. Perhaps the thing in the walls could uncoil enough to come lurk behind the loveseat, to try to explain its concerns to Ethan between frames of an old movie, reruns of I Love Lucy.

But Ethan did not stay. A hasty note and he was gone again, to ‘smooth things over’ with Willem.

 

Give him a chance, Ethan’s note begged. The thing in the walls whispered, _No,_ and left a trail of slime and other, worse things in Willem’s bathroom.

 

Reading the “We’ve Got A Latte To Do Today!” refrigerator notepad confirmed the worst. Willem knew. At least Ethan had finally come to his senses. Apology. Perhaps the thing in the walls should apologize too.

It would just check on Willem’s apartment first, to make sure he couldn’t hurt them both again. The thing in the walls didn’t usually like the awkwardness, the flashiness of a blood meal but perhaps in the circumstances Ethan wouldn’t mind. Jealousy?

 

Entering Willem’s dwelling had been a mistake. The thing in the walls knew that now. Something had followed, something left as a watch on the gateway. It clung and burned, blurring the lines between this place and the Lands Without Sunrise until the thing in the walls was forced to use up a dangerous amount of power to try to rid itself of it. Nothing worked. Willem came home and shouted words of Power, words that no man should have known.

Pain. Fear. Waking inside the cage, battering itself against the walls, frantic. Summoning fragments of lost magics, dark ichor oozing stinging tentacles burning. Nothing worked.

 

It was a prisoner. Willem gloated, made long speeches about how science would be vindicated, played with flensing knives and scalpels menacingly. Casually mentioned dissection. The thing in the walls hissed, noticed that Willem seemed afraid to actually approach the cage closely. But bravado would only last it so long. It was designed by its Master to skulk, to hide in shadows and inside walls and inside the dreams of humanity. Not to be exposed to prying eyes.

 

Willem made french toast, playing the radio loudly. He dropped some bloody raw meat into a bowl and shoved it inside the hatch of the cage. Some slopped out. Inside the cage, the thing in the walls pushed the bowl aside in distaste. Willem ranted about the dissertation committee, the final defense coming soon. The thing in the walls shuddered, its spines trembling.

Weakened, the thing in the walls shrank to the smallest it could possibly manage in the corner of the crate. It hoped that perhaps Ethan would notice its absence. But then what? Ethan was just a friendly human. There wasn’t anything the thing in the walls could rightfully expect from him.

 

Perhaps it would die here, and the Eaters would come to cleanse this place.

 

There were so many alien constellations that the thing in the walls had not yet seen. So many cartons and containers and jars full of pickles that it had wanted to explore.

 

A loud noise. Heat, light. The thing in the walls shrank back into the cage, clinging to the far wall and keening. Someone opened the door. Ethan!

"Oh thank God, I thought I'd lost you." Ethan's eyes were wet.

Ethan apologized for looking directly at the thing in the walls, turned his head away and allowed it some dignity to crawl out and scuttle into the nearest pipe. Cool. Dark. Soothing. Willem burst in and he and Ethan started shouting at each other, loud angry words overlapping and Willem was getting a worrying expression, something homicidal. Willem raised a hand that glowed with strange fire. He could not be allowed to hurt Ethan! The thing in the walls felt suddenly brave, leaped out and sank spines into Willem’s neck until he collapsed.

Then the thing felt weak, felt exhausted. _Thank you_ it whispered in tones that human ears could hardly distinguish from the howling of rabid dogs.

Ethan said, “You're welcome, buddy. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

 

The thing in the walls felt happy. Safe. Licking its wounds, it crawled into the walls and made its way back to the apartment. Home. A few minutes later there came the reassuring snick of a key in the lock, and Ethan’s light footsteps leading to the bathroom. He set a small dish of fresh blood on the counter and then washed his hands for several minutes. When Ethan looked inside the fridge and saw that the half and half was gone, he smiled.

 

From the ceiling, the thing in the walls listened to Ethan’s breathing all night.

 

That Friday night was a quiet one in apartment 3B. Neither room-mate quite knew how to behave, though it was clear that things couldn’t quite return to the way they had been. Every time Ethan looked directly at the thing in the walls, he stammered awkwardly and looked away again almost at once. The thing in the walls flickered with many contradictory impulses. Hide. Stay. Camouflage was a long habit, hard to overcome. They settled on a configuration with the thing lurking underneath the loveseat by Ethan’s legs. That way they could pass popcorn to and fro, but it didn’t have to feel too exposed.

After a long, distracting movie about people murdering one another in a snowy state, Ethan cleared his throat and said, “You know, I feel like we haven’t been telling each other everything lately. And yes, that’s partly my fault. I’m sorry about all of that mess with Willem. But I wish you’d share more with me. If I’d known that was the Key of Tssil I could’ve found you a lot sooner!”

The thing in the walls hissed agreement. Contrition. Sadness.

“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” said Ethan, brave, “But I’d like to think – I hope – that we can be friends? Not just room-mates. Unless you just want to stay room-mates! In which case, whatever, that’s cool, I’m good.”

The thing in the walls had to answer this with something better than hissing or charcoal runes. Something to show that it knew, it saw how much Ethan cared. Sometimes, he cared too much. Dimming the lights with a little carefully applied magic, it slid out from under the couch and hugged Ethan shyly, spines contracting to make it comfortable for him. The thing in the walls spoke a single word directly into Ethan’s mind.

_Parcheesi?_

“Yeah,” said Ethan, sounding a little choked up. “Yeah, buddy, I’d like that a lot.”

 

 


End file.
